Inside Out
by loosescrew
Summary: They had a peculiar friendship but it was something she could get used to. Where one lacked the other made up for. AU. Previously Between Us. Edited and reposted.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Instead of reuploading the chapters in the old fic, _Between Us_ , I decided to redistribute it under a new title. I'm having trouble with the old one due to a lot of inconsistencies I found and a lot of things I wrote that I didn't feel I executed correctly. I'm eventually gonna delete the old one when I reach the point where it's at. _Snowblind_ is also getting the re-publish it deserves.

Lots of changes have been made, scenes have been added, others are going to be deleted, though it's still the same plot! Bear with me!

* * *

Claire tried not to hold onto her mother's hand so tightly as they weaved through the basketball court. They were searching for her teacher, Ms. Deleon.

It was the first day of kindergarten and Claire didn't know what to think. It was early in the morning, too early to be up. She was ready for a nap but naps were for toddlers now. She was on her way to becoming a big kid. By her mother's impatient steps and flared nostrils, she was minutes away from losing the cool façade she tried so hard to maintain.

Claire looked up at the sky. It was a heartbreaking blue, not a single white cloud. A perfect backdrop for a photoshoot if only her mother would look up. The rays of the bright sun made her squint. Claire looked back forward, inhaling deeply through her nose. She wished the scent of wet grass could calm the jitters coursing through her body.

There were so many kids. In daycare, it'd only been a little over fifteen. Here it was way over twenty. Claire wasn't used to this many. Some were a lot bigger than her but not as tall as Larue. Larue, her older brother, was starting something called middle school in the adjacent building. She wished he was here, talking her through this instead of _her_.

Claire's lips parted but the words died on her tongue. She wanted to say how scared of this place she was. Her eyes darted everywhere, her hand slipping out of her mother's. Someone _screamed_ straight from their gut like they were being kidnapped. It made Claire jump, her hand brushing her mother's skirt.

"Claire, how many times have I told you not to do that?" Her mother reprimanded, pushing her hand away. "You're gonna crumble the material. This is very expensive. It was imported from Dubai, honey."

Tears streamed down this one boy's pudgy, bright red cheeks as his parents turned their backs and walked towards the parking lot.

"You're not gonna leave me here…" Claire said softly. "Are you, mother?"

"Of course I am!" She huffed. "You're almost six, Claire. By law, you should be enrolled and in elementary school."

Claire's hand found the clutch of her pink book bag. "But why can't I stay home? _Larue_ went to school at home! Why do I have to come _here_?"

"Because it's what your father wanted." Her mother responded with an ugly sneer on her glossed lips. "If it were up to me, you'd be on a first class trip to France for boarding school like when Larue was your age but your father had other, more _economical_ ideas."

Claire blinked rapidly, looking around. She'd almost forgotten and couldn't find her father's patch of scarlet hair amongst the few adults around. "Where is he?"

"He couldn't make it. Work called him in."

" _What_? That's not fair!" Claire stomped her foot. "He said he'd be here!"

Her mother turned sharply. "Don't start this, Claire. You're _not_ like these other children. Don't act like one of them."

Claire sucked in air through her mouth. Her mother's knifelike eyes and low frowns always made her feel so much smaller than she was. "Sorry, mother."

Her mother shook her head, grabbing Claire's wrist and pulling her to where they were supposed to go. "This is all George's fault. He's spoiled you too much."

Claire lowered her head, whispering, "I wish he was here."

Her mother didn't say anything. She did grab her by the wrist and yank her to the left. Claire kept her face down, making sure both of her twig legs were moving at the same speed of her mother. She didn't want to go but she could never say something like that out loud. Her mother wouldn't have it, like she wasn't having it now.

A few more twists and turns, and they found her designated drop off. She studied the faces of some of the kids around. Only one of them was crying. The others were talking and showing off their Superman or Batman themed materials. Claire didn't like that stuff but her brother did.

"Ms. Deleon!" Her mother called out to the older woman holding up a sign with her name on it. "How're you?"

"I'm doing well, thank you!" The thin haired lady stuck out her hand. Her mother took it. "You must be—"

"Theodora. Theodora Standish."

She let go of their handshake. "Yes, I read the info cards. That's a very unique name! Where're you from, if I may know?"

"It's a family name, I was born here." She deflected, wiggling Claire's arm. It broke her attention away. She recognized two of the faces in the area and hoped they were in the same class. "Introduce yourself."

Claire looked up at Ms. Deleon's soft, brown eyes. "Hi, I'm Claire."

"That's such a pretty name!" She complimented with a wrinkly smile. "Is yours a family name, too?"

"Yes. I was named after my grandmother, Clarice."

"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Claire! I'm Ms. Deleon, and you'll be with me for the school year."

Claire shuffled her feet, careful not to dig her toe into the ground around her mother. "... Are you gonna teach us to read stories? I know how to read a little bit… But I'd like to know more."

"Yes, of course! And I'm gonna teach you to draw, and how to do math, and a whole bunch of other things."

A pang of apprehension left. "Okay, that's good."

Ms. Deleon pointed with her finger. "You can wait in that line with the rest of the class. I'm missing about two more kids, then we'll go inside, okay?"

Claire nodded with a nervous smile. "Thank you!"

Her mother relented her grasp, nudging Claire away with her leg.

"She's very polite and sophisticated!" Claire heard her compliment as she started walking towards her line, massaging her wrist when her back was turned. "I can't say I've ever met a kid quite like her."

"It's how we raised her to be."

Claire was happy to see Andrew Clarke in her line. They'd known each other as far back as Claire's little mind could think. Their parents knew each other. And Jennifer Morrison, from daycare, was here, too! Jennifer was towards the back, with two girls. They were showing off their colored pencils and gel pens.

Jennifer turned, smiling brightly and waving. "Claire! Sit with us!"

"Coming!"

There was one boy in the line that was strange. He wasn't like the rest, and he didn't bother hiding his curious scrutiny as she walked closer. Claire wondered if he knew her, though she thought she'd remember a boy as pretty as him.

Her fingers itched to get the comb from her book bag and brush out his long, dark hair. It was so messy and improper! And she wanted to ask why his clothes didn't fit, and why there was a space between him and the other kids. And _why_ was he just starting at her so intensely with those big, hazel eyes?

Claire was about to reach the line, and maybe say something to him, when her mother called for her. "Claire? Come here."

She ripped her gaze away from his, turning around instinctively.

Her mother was already hovering over her and actually kneeled. She pat down Claire's polo and straightened the collar. "It's not the end of the world, honey."

She slid the hair tie out of Claire's pony tail that Larue spent all morning doing for pictures. Her mother ran her slender fingers through the strands, setting Claire's hair neatly on her shoulders. Claire tried not to protest though it hurt, feeling some the strands being plucked right out. It was as close to affection as she'd get from her mother so she took it.

"I know." She managed to say. "I'm not sad anymore."

"Good. Just do as you're told—" Her mother continued. "—be on your best behavior, and everything will go smoothly. It's almost like daycare, except a little less sanctioned."

Claire nodded, wiggling her toes in her strapped shoes. She could see the dent of her big toes. "Yes, mother."

"And remember." She picked up Claire's head by the chin, leveling their gazes. Her mother's face was hard as stone. "Larue was a good kid here. I expect the same of you. I love you."

Claire nodded again. "I love you, too."

She watched her mother walk away, still wishing her father or Larue had been here instead of her.

* * *

It was the second week of school and Ms. Deleon began teaching them how to color in the lines.

Claire ignored the paper balls that kept landing on her table. They'd flown right above her head almost every time. One of them landed near Jennifer, who was sitting a few inches in front of Claire. She didn't even care.

Cindy Mancini, on the other hand, swept each of them to the ground. A scowl crossed her lips every time. And every time Claire peeked over her shoulder, it seemed like they'd come out of thin air. She couldn't figure out who it was but it all started when Ms. Deleon stepped out to use the bathroom.

"Hey, Claire," Andrew said, sitting in the seat next to her. "Can I have the blue?"

"Which one?" Claire opened the flap. Most of the crayons were gone because she was sharing her 64 pack with her table. It was a gift from her father for not being there the first. "There's Denim, Ultramarine, Midnight, Indigo—"

"What does that even mean?" Andrew interrupted, confused as a puppy. "I just need blue."

"I _know_." Claire drawled. "But there's different types of blues, Andy! You can't say blue not be specific."

Andrew tried not to roll his eyes. "I need a dark one."

"Which _one_?"

"I dunno, Claire! A dark one! Midnight! Whatever!"

"I'm using it." Jennifer hollered from the off to the side, holding it up in emphasis.

Andrew shrugged. "I'll wait."

Right as Andrew turned forward, she felt something in the back of her head.

It didn't hurt, but she thought whatever it was ended up getting stuck. Her mother woke up early to do her hair instead of Larue. She said boys shouldn't be doing that, and she'd have to grow up someday and do it herself. Claire hated every second of it. She couldn't understand her mother's instructions. She was distracted by the roar of the hair dryer, and then by the disgusting smell of hair spray.

She felt through the back of her head. There was nothing but the rigid outline of the bobby pins clipped in place to hold all her hair to one side. Claire turned around in her chair. There was a paper airplane on the floor, the nose crushed from impact.

"Hey... _Hey_!" Andrew's bellow attracted the attention of some of the other kids. "Don't you have something to say?"

She followed Andrew's irritated eyes. He was looking right at that boy. John Bender. The same boy that'd been staring at her that morning. The boy nobody in group—or anyone in her class, for that matter—spoke to. He always sat alone but always found a way to make the most noise.

John blinked in confusion though there was a sense of mischief, and his cheeks were dusty. "… Who? _Me_?"

"Yeah, you." Andrew deadpanned. "You're the one throwing the balls. Stop it."

"I didn't do anything!"

Andrew's lip curled downwards. "You're such a liar, I know it was you."

John's lip curled the opposite way. "Prove it."

Andrew's eyes narrowed slightly before Andrew decided to turn back to the table. "Just leave us alone, Bender."

"But it's so bo-ring!"

Andrew picked up the maroon crayon and went back to his coloring. "Don't care. Not my problem."

His eyes twinkled the slightest green. "I could make it your problem."

"No." Andrew's jaw tensed. "I said, leave us alone."

"Come _on_ , Sporto! Ms. D's not here. We should throw a party!"

"That's not very appropriate, Bender." Cindy responded, twirling Claire's fuchsia crayon.

John scoffed. "What's not appropriate is your big head."

Claire pulled on her lips as Cindy gasped, clutching her hair. Her head _was_ big and blonde, though Claire thought her curls were pretty. She wished she had those kind of curls.

" _Hey_!" Andrew whirled in his chair. "Take that back!"

He leaned forward. "Make me, _Sporto_."

"I won't have to. Mr. Ryan will come back and I'll tell him."

"… So?" John drawled.

"So, why don't you just shut up!" Andrew barked, dropping her crayon on the table instead of throwing it at John like Claire knew he wanted to. "There's other people here, you know!"

"You can count!" John mocked as Andrew turned his back to him. "I didn't think you could go over ten yet, Sporto!"

Andrew ground his jaw. "If you don't stop—"

"You'll do _what_?" John mocked dryly. "Hit me?"

Her heart thudded loudly in her chest, knowing that what she was about to do was _wrong_ in the eyes of her friends. She didn't want to be on their bad side, but this felt wrong. John didn't know Andrew like she did. She'd seen him get into fights with other kids before.

His eyes drifted to her. Claire mouthed _stop_.

John was taken aback. His disdainful eyes faltered and they went wide. His mouth parted a few times. "What?"

Andrew whirled in his chair so hard, it screeched against the tile. "You know what—"

"Andy!" Cindy whispered, grabbing his arm and yanking him. "Just stop! That's enough!"

"Why me?" Andrew whispered back angrily. "Tell him! _He_ started it!"

" _Ew_! I'm not gonna talk to him!" Cindy waved her hand in front of her small face. "He's annoying and dirty and never has anything to share. That's why he doesn't sit with us! Right?"

The other kids at their table nodded in agreement, except for Claire and Jennifer. Jennifer hadn't been paying attention; all her focus was on her purple and blue patterned butterfly. And Claire was just trying to comprehend what was going on.

Claire didn't think he'd hear that from all the way over there, but a hurt look crossed John's eyes. His cocky look faded, and he slowly faced his table. It didn't even have the sheet they were all working on.

Claire frowned, taking in the sight of her friends. Andrew and Cindy looked pleased with themselves, sharing smiles like nothing happened.

"Isn't that a mean thing to say?" Claire asked slowly. "You don't know him."

"You don't either, Claire!"

"I don't have to know him." Andrew responded bluntly. "If he's not nice, then I won't be either."

Cindy agreed, nodding like a bobble head. "We can't be nice to others who aren't nice to us first!"

Claire's frown deepened. She looked over her shoulder again. John's empty table looked so much bigger than before. Why did she want to sit with him? She didn't get it. All she got was that Andrew and John didn't like each other before, and not everyone else didn't seem to like John, either.

"Claire!" Cindy seethed. "Don't look! You'll catch cooties!"

Claire's head titled. "What's that?"

Cindy sighed. "It means we can't talk to him! He's a boy and boys have _cooties_."

"Andrew's a boy, too." Claire's eyes darted around the table. "So are Zachary and David."

" _Yeah_ ," Cindy agreed with a flick of her head. "But they're nice and share things with us."

Claire looked down, at her pink and red butterfly that didn't seem so pretty anymore. She wanted to look back again but couldn't. Cindy's brown eyes were glued to her in a way Claire didn't like.

"Should we tell Ms. Deleon what he did?"

Andrew shrugged. "You pick. He hit your head, not mine."

"I think we should."

Claire didn't know why she didn't tell.

* * *

 **A/N** : Anyway, you'll have to pry hazel eyed!John from my cold, dead hands. -Shrug emoji-


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N** : That Aquaman trailer tho... 9-1-1? Hewwo? I would like 2 report that I've been shot bc my predictability when it comes to characters and pairings strikes again.

* * *

"Tell me who it was."

Claire focused on curling her sweaty palms into fists, refusing to meet her mother's eyes. She didn't need to see her mother's infamous frown. Nothing had changed in the last year except she'd grown about an inch taller—according to the measurements marked on the kitchen door's threshold.

"Tell me."

"It was no one."

"Tell me, Claire." Claire shook her head. " _Claire_!"

"Thea, I think that's enough." Her father said from the dining room table. "You've been badgering her for ten minutes and she still hasn't said anything. She's probably telling the truth. There's no need to raise your voice."

"Do you really believe any child of mine would be stupid enough to do something like _this,_ George?"

"Kids will be kids." Her father deadpanned and there was a crinkling of papers. Since her father had no home office and no desk yet, the dining table was the next best thing. "Claire's barely touching seven years old. It's perfectly normal for them to do things like this."

" _I_ never did this as a child." Her mother replied stubbornly.

"You were born into a different _kind_ of family..."

She ignored him, anger back on her. "Now, Claire, I've had enough of these silly games. Tell me who really did it."

She played with the hem of her cotton skirt that stopped just before her knee caps. "It _really_ was no one, mother."

"Claire Standish, if you don't tell me right this second you're _grounded_ for two weeks! No television, no sleep-overs, no going over your friends house's. Nothing. Just school, homework, and sleep."

She lowered her head further, twisting her lips in thought. She told _some_ of the truth, she just preceded not to tell all of it. She didn't know why she was trying to protect them when they hadn't been the least bit kind to her these few months of first grade.

Her mother stomped her heel on the living room rug. It wasn't loud but Claire still grimaced. "I can't call the school and report whoever it is if I don't know a name."

"I'm telling the truth. It wasn't anyone."

"Claire…" Claire swallowed thickly. "You mean to tell me _you've_ been cutting your hair without my consent? And that's the whole truth? … _Claire, answer me_!"

" _Thea_!" Her father shouted. "Honestly! Enough already!"

Claire bit her quivering lip, squeezing her eyes shut. "Yes."

The long silence made Claire wonder if she could hear her rapid heartbeat, the blood hammering near her ears. "Excuse me?"

She made the mistake of peeking up through her bangs. Her mother was absolutely _furious_. She'd never seen her mother this way and her flicker of bravery cowered.

"I've… been cutting my hair."

"What for?"

"I... want short hair." She said, and that was the truth. "I've been looking at pictures in the magazines and there's pretty girls with short hair. Why can't I have it?"

Her mother's mouth parted but her father beat her. "Why didn't you just say so, honey? You didn't have to go through this length."

"I did before..." She responded, meeting her mother's deadly eyes again. "But mother said no."

"Why not, Thea?" Her mother's jaw set, her eyes narrowing dangerously that Claire looked back at her hands. "You're letting her pick out her own clothes. Why can't she decide on her hair?"

"Don't turn this on me, George. If it weren't for _you_ , she'd be in France for the next five years—far away from the public school circus. We _could've_ sent her to private school but you said no to that as well."

"Public school isn't the end of the world, honey." He replied in a bored tone. This conversation was the same one they came back to since her first day of kindergarten. "She's getting the same education at less of the cost. We need that money for the expansion."

"But she doesn't need to be subjected to children that aren't of her sort, George. She's above all them." She scoffed. "It's a miracle she hasn't picked up lice yet."

"There's nothing wrong with associating with others that aren't like us. Jesus, Thea! We were _lucky_ to be born into privilege but it's not a badge of honor. The world doesn't function the way it did in the Middle Ages."

" _Ooh_ , I'm starting to see what this is now." She leaned back, crossing her arms. "This is a conspiracy. You two are plotting against me."

Claire looked up at her mother's sneer, tilting her head. "… Conspiracy?"

"What're you _talking_ about?"

"What are you trying to prove, George?" She marched over to him, her expensive perfume leaving a trail in her wake. "Is this your way of getting back at me for our trip to Bora Bora last summer? Because it delayed your plans of expanding the company?"

Her father's jaw slacked. "I don't care about any of that. I already told you how I felt and I thought we were done with that discussion."

"Doesn't seem to me like we're finished." She placed a hand right on one of his binders. "You're starting to use Claire against me."

"That is _ridiculous_." He threw down his papers. "I wouldn't need to use my kids against you to prove a point."

"I _knew_ it!"

Claire slipped into her bubble, tuning them out. Still, the insults being thrown around were just as deadly as hearing them in perfect sound. She crinkled her nose, silently getting off the couch and leaving the living room.

Would telling the whole truth changed things? Probably not. Her parents would've still found a way to pick a fight. Doing the right thing didn't always guarantee the best outcome. And though she hid part of the truth, Claire felt like she'd done the right thing. Wasn't that good enough? She wasn't ashamed.

"Claire-bear."

She looked up. Larue was in the kitchen. The bag of turkey slices and few packaged cheese slices were on the counter top along with the container of mayonnaise.

"Hey, Lou."

His green eyes regarded her tenderly, then he shook his head. He spread the mayonnaise on the two bread slices with a butter knife. "Give me a sec and we'll go upstairs. I'll fix your hair."

"But mother doesn't want you to—"

His brow quirked, studying her face. He handed her the rag hanging from the oven handle. "Since when do I listen to her?"

She took it, lightly blowing her nose though it wouldn't matter with how her parents were _busy_. Larue put together his sandwich quickly, two slices of turkey and three of cheddar cheese, before putting the bread on top.

How was he so... _unbothered_? How did he see them fighting and not want to scream at them to stop? Every time her parents got into an argument, Claire wanted to cry, like right now.

"You want one before we go?"

Claire shook her head. She didn't trust her voice right now, not with her eyes still wet. Larue put everything back in the fridge where they belonged and closed the door. Holding the sandwich in his mouth, he led them upstairs with a hand on her back.

Larue ate as he washed her hair in their shared tub. Even though the water was a little too hot for her liking, Claire didn't protest. She missed this. He was always so gentle and never pulled without warning. The loud, running water blocked out her sounds and Larue probably mistook her shivering as the water being cold.

He wrapped her hair in a towel, leading her to his room. Their parents were still at it. Larue sat them on the floor, squeezing some of the water out of her hair. The sound of the front door slamming was like a gunshot.

Both of them jumped. "That was probably mom."

"I know."

"You're quiet." He dropped the towel on the carpet. "What's up?"

She stared at his bookshelf a few feet in front of her, covered in nothing but comics and action figures. "Nothing."

"It's not nothing to you, Claire." He said, gently cupping the back of her head and placing it down.

She licked her lips, fiddling with her fingers on her crossed legs. "My hair's ugly. I hate it."

"Why?"

"'Cause it's ugly!" She repeated, feeling the tip of the comb parting her hair in four sections.

"Who told you that?"

"Nobody."

"Claire..."

Claire sighed shakily. "You can't tell them, okay?"

" _Duh_."

"... Some boys at school stick gum in my hair." She said under her breath. "They think it's funny. Some of them say it's ugly."

Larue lifted a section of her hair and she heard the sound of scissors cutting away. "Their opinions don't matter. Don't let them get to you."

"And my hair's too curly." Claire continued dejectedly, their taunts still fresh in her mind. "I wish it was like Jennifer's—brown like chocolate and straight."

"Jennifer _does_ have nice hair but that doesn't make yours is ugly."

"Yes, it does."

"It's not gonna be this way forever, Claire. Hair changes. Sometimes you'll love it, and other days you'll hate it. Look at mine—don't turn around, it's just an expression." Claire pouted, crossing her arms. "It used to be Shirley Temple curly when I was your age but now it's wavy."

"And you like it?"

"Not really." She felt the comb through her hair again. "I wish it could be mom's ruby color. But it's my hair, I gotta deal with it—which means I can do whatever I want to it until I like it."

"You're _lucky_." Claire muttered bitterly. "You don't need mother's consent to do _anything_."

"You don't need her consent either, she's just saying that to make you feel bad." Larue said. She shivered, feeling wet metal across the back of her nape. "She's the type of person who wants things in order, in _her_ order. She just doesn't know how to deal with you yet. It happened with me, too."

Claire honestly couldn't imagine. Larue Standish was born perfect. He was the sun everyone orbited around; the kid that never did anything wrong. Their mother never yelled—or even frowned—in his direction. It was all smiles and praise whenever he was at family get-togethers. What did _he_ know about anything she was going through?

"She's also giving you a hard time 'cause you're her only daughter." He continued when Claire didn't answer. "She wants you to be like her, and grandma, and—"

"I don't _wanna_ be like her!" Claire shouted. "I don't wanna be _any_ of them!"

"You don't have to be." Larue said, patting her head to lower her voice. "I'm not anything like dad or mom. I'm me and you're you, too."

"I wish I were a boy." She glowered. "Boys have it _so_ easy."

Larue laughed loudly. "No, we don't."

"Yes, you do!"

"No, we don't, Claire." He repeated, still in a humorous tone. "Not everything's black and white."

Claire rolled her eyes. "What does that _mean_? Everything's colorful!"

"You're too little to understand, but it means not everything is just good and just bad. There's a lot of grey in the world. You gotta find it for yourself."

Claire groaned. "I don't get it!"

He tapped her shoulder with the scissors, signaling the end. "You'll get it one day."

Claire reached up carefully, feeling her bare shoulder. Her hair used to be there. Reaching higher, she felt a strands dangling around her jawline.

"Larue?" She twirled it in a corkscrew around her finger though she couldn't see. Claire was nervous, but at the same time excited. "What's mother gonna think?"

A slow, wicked grin spread across his mouth. "We'll find out but I can't wait 'til she sees it in the morning."

Claire almost laughed. She turned around as Larue picked up the towel where all her hair fell. He used the extra towel to wipe her shoulders, the loose wisps falling onto his carpet floor. She stared at the strands disdainfully.

Her hair looked like warm cinnamon when wet. Cinnamon smelled good and tasted good, too. But when her hair dried, it was orange. Orange is too sour.

Larue noticed her staring and wrapped up the towel, placing it on his hamper with his overflowing clothes. "You should hit them."

"What?"

"Those boys." He clarified. "Hit them the next time they do that to you."

"But… Mother says that's not very lady-like..."

Larue shrugged, picking up a regular comb and brushing through his reddish-brown hair in his mirror. "It's not! But it's either _that_ or tell the teacher… _or_ … You could get new friends."

Claire scowled. "Those boys aren't my friends."

"But they're probably your friend's friends." He stated, putting the comb down and sitting cross legged in front of her. "Which is why you never say anything."

Claire looked down gloomily. "Yeah…"

"Then, maybe you really should get new friends." Laure put a hand on her shoulder. "I know it seems scary but you're my sister. You can do it. Being friends with a lot of people can be a good thing."

Her brows set. There was one person she thought of. She didn't think she'd need, or want, anyone else. "Hey, Lou?"

"Yeah?"

Claire's lips twisted from side to side. "Are cooties real?"

"God, I haven't heard that in years! I can't believe that's still around!" Larue laughed. "It's a thing kids like you makeup so you don't talk to certain boys or certain girls."

She blinked. " _Really_? So it's not real?"

Larue grinned. "Well, I mean, they _are_ real but not in the way you think!"

Claire wanted to rip her hair out. "That doesn't make any sense!"

Larue ruffled her hair playfully. Claire scowled, pushing his hand away. "You won't get them just by touching someone. It's a lot more complicated than that. But it's not something you need to think about right now."

She sighed, slumping her shoulders. "Okay."

"Now, get outta my room." He jutted his thumb to his door. "We're done here and I have things to do for school tomorrow."

* * *

 _What am I gonna do_ , Claire thought in melancholy as she walked towards the front of the school.

Mrs. Dedesma, a fourth grade teacher, walked with her the entire way. Claire responded to all her questions as simply and politely as her mother taught her to be in spite of irritation.

Most of her school day was spent with distractions. Her friends—meaning some of Andrew and most of Jennifer—were there to keep her company in the morning. Jennifer talked about her birthday party coming up in two months. Claire hoped she could go. She paid extra attention in class, answering all the math questions correctly. She even opted to stay indoors for recess and do her vocabulary homework so she'd have time to try reading on her own at home.

But now Claire was alone. Mrs. Dedesma watched her from the main office as she called one of her parents. Andrew and Jennifer were gone. The only other person in the area was the crosswalk guard by the light. He also checked up on her from his distance.

Claire dropped her heavy book bag to the floor and let her back hit the wall. Her shoulders were aching, just like her heart that'd been trying to repress the situation. It was all starting to come to the surface in slow, smooth waves. She didn't know how to handle this.

Last night during dinner, Larue told them about his plans to study abroad. Her parents looked so happy. And, for that moment, Claire was, too. She didn't understand what exactly he meant but she kept listening. Soon, her smile turned into a frown when she heard the words _years_ and _might not be around for holidays_.

Besides having to swallow the yucky endives of their mother's _Horta Vrasta_ , Claire was forced to fight back tears. It was even harder to control when Larue did his nightly routine of reading her a bed time story. He was reading her favorite one, Peter Pan. But Claire managed to wait, and cried when he was in his room and out of earshot.

Why did he _want_ to go? Was it something she did? Claire sunk down, her palms feeling the cold, cracked cement floor. It's because she kept stealing his gummy bear packs, wasn't it? And his pudding pops? Well, he should know better than to leave it in a place where she could reach!

Claire sniffed, rolling her sleeve and rubbing her eyes across her forearm. That wasn't fair to say. Larue was always nice to her. They rarely ever fought, which Claire thought was weird. Jennifer and her older sister fought a lot. And though Claire had an inkling of envy towards him, Larue was really the only one that listened, who treated her like an actual person, and not a pawn in a chess set to toss around. Maybe if she apologized…

Yeah, that's what she'd do! Claire breathed in, a little steadier than before. If she apologized, he wouldn't have to leave! He might change his mind and stay. It was selfish at best, she knew it, but she wasn't ready to be without him yet. Or ever. Once he was gone, she'd be all alone. Being alone was scary.

"Don't sit too long, Cherry."

Claire jumped, looking up in time to catch John walking by.

She took in the sight of his back. His clothes were still oversized and uncoordinated. His hair was only a little shorter than what'd it been last year. He was walking—so bouyant and cool—towards the gates leading to the middle school; it made her think his battered moment from a year ago had been a figment of her active imagination.

But what wasn't fake was the limp in his step. Did he get into another fight with Andrew? They had the same teacher and, according to Andrew, nothing was different there.

"Why?" She managed to call out.

John looked over his shoulder. His hair couldn't cover up the faint, purple and red mixed mark around his eye. "Your mom'll get mad if she sees ya."

How did _John_ know what her mother was like? Nobody did. She'd never told anyone—not even Jennifer knew, and she was her best friend. Her forehead grew heavy with confusion.

This was the first time they'd ever spoken. And, from the glimpses of him in the mornings and cafeteria, nobody talked to him still. He sat alone, all the time. Nobody ever found out what she did for him that time. And if they ever did, she'd be cast aside even more than she already was for telling on them about her hair.

Claire wiggled her toes in her strapped shoes. Something like this happened already… That's when it hit her.

By the time she looked up, John was long gone. Had he been paying attention to her the way she did?

She closed her hanging mouth, licking her lips, and got up. She checked her hands, slapping the debris off. Claire inspected her polo, her skirt, even ran her hand through her hair right as she saw her mother's car coming down the school zone. She was already grounded to the end of the century for her hair. Had she stayed sitting a moment longer, Claire would've been _in_ for it.

John couldn't be the bad guy everyone painted him to be. He couldn't.

* * *

 **A/N** : Guys... braiding/combing/doing anything... to a girl's hair... so underrated...


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I'm not entirely sorry for the hiatus, but I am sorry for making you guys wait so long for an update. Thank you for being patient with me while I figure shit out.

If anyone's also reading _Breaking the Habit_ it'll be updated next. It's my priority, I just need more time.

* * *

All the magazines Claire collected during the last two months were sprawled across her carpeted floor.

Claire sat cross-legged, her back resting comfortably against her bed. She had a clear vision of how the poster board should look like in its completion. It needed just a few more cutouts. Every square inch needed to be occupied.

The idea came to her when she saw the school giving away poster boards for free. The sixth graders were already being given out the packets for their science fair projects. She was only in second grade—and wouldn't get that any time soon—but it didn't stop her from persuading her mother to take one of them.

Once she had that, Claire needed the right materials. There was only one way to get them without raising suspicion. If Theodora ever found out just how many times Claire snuck out her window, skipping all the way to the convenience store, where she spent most of her monthly allowance of magazines—and candy she wasn't supposed to be eating—her mother would lock her in her room. The thought almost made her laugh. A real life princess.

She could already hear her mother's frosty tone, see the hand gestures, the deep-set frown. _A lady should never walk by herself, Claire. She should always be escorted_ , would be one, she imagined. _A lady should_ never _overindulge herself in delicacies. It shows a lack of respect for her body_ , but Claire shook her head. She didn't need to think about that, not when she hadn't even gotten caught.

And, besides, most of the girls in her grade—and even the ones above—did things on their own all the time. Cindy walked home and took the bus all by herself. Jennifer ate mountains of chocolate bars, candy, and even ice cream, and never gained a pound. It was so unfair! What made her so different from them?

Larue's tall profile lingered by her door but Claire never asked why. This project was so much more important than his eavesdropping. And, anyway, didn't he have homework to do? When did he start caring about her again?

Her forehead puckered, her little hands grabbing the second to last page as she cut it with her pink scissors delicately. Once it was free, she set it in the pile. Now it was time to start gluing.

Before Claire started cutting, she'd decorated the board with pink and purple colored paper. She had some tiny gold star stickers that she'd add later. Now she started thinking about adding a sprinkle of gold glitter. Would glitter help get the point across? Claire frowned. Maybe it would be too distracting…

"Claire?" Larue finally spoke. "What're you doing?"

"A presentation."

"Oh. Do you need help?"

"No." She laid the board flat on her carpet. "I can do it myself."

Claire started cutting the very last one when Larue said, "Geez, I can't believe they're making you guys start those things already. My first one was in the sixth grade, and I did it on fingerprints. I still have it, if you want it. Maybe you can use that instead."

"It's not for school." She didn't want to get her hands dirty with glue, but she'd have to go down to the kitchen, where mother was probably lounging in the living room, to get the butter knife. "It's for father."

"Wait… _What_?" Larue paused, processing. "... You're… You're gonna present dad with a poster board full of _cats_?"

Maybe one flap should be for the long-costed cats and the other for the short-haired. Where would the hairless cat fit, though? With the short-haired cats?

"Yeah. Christmas is coming soon. I want a cat."

"Claire... Mom doesn't even like exotic birds, let alone cats." He said warily. "That's why we've never had a pet."

"I _know_." She dabbed a little glue on her index finger, wiping it on the back of the cutout of the tabby. "Why do you think I'm showing it to _him_ and not _her_?"

When she thought about her perfect cat, she thought of a miniature her—sociable, well-mannered, obviously adorable, and a pleaser. She wasn't sure if a tabby really fit what she was looking for, but she'd take any kind of cat at this point. It wasn't fun being on the outside, listening Madison's story of her golden retriever puppy catching the Frisbee for the first time or Cindy's story about how her Siamese cat purred along whenever she played the piano. Claire hated not being able to chime in with her own tales. She wanted to share, she liked to share.

"You should just ask him."

"He doesn't look at me sometimes when I talk. Now, he'll _have_ to pay attention to me."

"What do you mean?"

She recalled something from _The Little Prince_ , something Claire realized was so true. "It means adults need to be explained things. It's a kid's job to do it."

Larue didn't say anything.

Claire got up, padding towards her nightstand, opening the drawer where she kept paper-thin books and her colored-paper booklets. She decided to use the white colored-paper for labeling.

Claire stared at the half completed board when she sat back down. Now that she thought about it, the pink was off setting to the purple. And the white colored paper in the book wasn't white-white like regular lined paper, it was more of an ivory.

Her shoulders slumped. This wouldn't do at all. Using navy blue was supposed to never happen, even as a last resort, but now it was time. And, well, at least now she had an excuse to use glitter after all.

Claire got up again, searching on her vanity amidst the perfumes and the nail polishes for the tube of gold.

"You really don't think this is a little, ah, much?"

She sat back down, on her knees, and began writing out _long haired_ and _short haired_ with glue on the thick, navy paper. "No, it's not enough."

She heard Larue sigh, and eventually, he retreated to his room, mumbling something about _kids_.

* * *

Jennifer went bug-eyed. "It didn't _work_?"

"My mother saw it before I could show it to him." Claire sighed, frustrated. "She said cats are impractical and mean and they'll ruin the furniture with their claws and hair."

"That's unfair! You could've asked for something worse—like a dog! Have you ever _smelled_ a wet dog? It's so disgusting!" Jennifer rambled. "I love my dogs but, sometimes, I wish I had cats. They're cooler."

"I know why she really said it." Claire said bitterly. "She doesn't think I can take care of him."

"Why not?"

Claire's nose crinkled, recalling in her mother's biting tone, "Well, 'cause, if I can't remember to match my shirt to my shoes how am I supposed to remember the times to feed him… or her?"

Jennifer's brows drew together, her mouth also twisting in confusion. "What does _that_ have to do with _that_?"

Claire shrugged. "That's what I said, and it only made her madder. And then it turned into a big, monster deal 'cause my father got involved and then I just shut the door to my room and turned the radio on high."

Jennifer ranked her fingers through her still thick, cinnamon hair and started assembling it into her infamous side ponytail. "Your mom is a total bee-otch."

Claire licked her lips, hiding her smile. Jennifer's brash personality was one of the things she liked most about her. She was a lot like a sun, too; warm and radiant and _the_ girl some of the girls in their grade tried to copy.

"I think my brother told her." Claire admitted though it was hard to stomach the idea.

"What makes you say that?"

"I dunno, just a feeling." Claire shrugged, looking at her well-kept nails. After drying her tears, she'd painted them mint green before bed. "He's acting weird. He's not around for dinner anymore 'cause he's always studying those really long math equations or he's stuck at school 'cause he wants to be there."

"That's so weird." Jennifer's nose scrunched. "Who _likes_ school?"

"I know, he's just not fun anymore."

"Boys are weird. Larue isn't different just because he's your brother." Jennifer quipped though it didn't make Claire laugh or even smile this time.

Claire intertwined her fingers in her lap, concentrating on the polish. She wouldn't look up. If she did, she'd see all her classmates intermingling with the other second grade class. Hearing them, their ringing laughter, calling each other's name, and having tons of fun while she was sitting here on the bench under a green ash tree was *enough*. As much as she loved Jennifer, her being here didn't lighten her mood at all. In fact, it made it worse.

"You should go." Claire said softly.

Jennifer threw her arm around Claire's shoulders. She was still slicked with sweat from the game of tag she'd come from a few minutes earlier. "Don't look like that, Claire. At least she's letting you into dance school. It'll be fun, I promise!"

Claire's lip twisted, kicking her legs. These pantyhose were uncomfortable but her mother said she couldn't wear this chevron striped skirt without them. "She _was_ a ballerina before I was born."

"Yeah, yeah." Jennifer dismissed. "Then she broke her knee and never got better. You told me."

"I'm just saying that I think it'd be weird if she said no. She misses it." Claire said, remembering the crowded parties George threw during the holidays, where she'd watch Theodora wobble and slur over her words about her trophies in the hallway. "You know, when I asked her about it… It was the first time she smiled at me."

Jennifer groaned, maneuvering her arm to loop around Claire's. "Let's stop talking about your mom. C'mon, let's go play instead!"

Claire slipped her arm out of the loop. "You know I can't."

" _Please_?" Jennifer stuck out her bottom lip. "My mom packed other clothes for me. You can wear them."

Claire shook her head. "We're not the same size, Jen. I'm taller."

"Who _cares_ , Claire? It's just for, like, a little while! Come _on_ , don't do this again!" Jennifer whined and Claire finally understood how Jennifer got away with so much at home. "You were so much fun in summer camp!"

She gave her a lackluster smile. "That's 'cause we had uniforms and my mother wasn't around to track everything I did."

Jennifer looked around. "Well, she's not here, either…"

Claire held back her eye roll. "Jennifer…"

Jennifer rose, clasping her hands in prayer. "Just this once? _Please_? Just tell her we were doing a fencing exercise!"

Claire shot her a look, also rising. "You know she'd never believe that. This isn't private school. I… I don't think even private schools do that."

"You're such a buzz kill, Claire." Jennifer pouted again. "Come on, just take a risk. It's really no fun doing things best friendless."

"You'll survive." Claire half smiled. "If you really need me, I'll be at my designated spot."

"Stop talking like that!" Jennifer called out, skipping towards the grassy strip between buildings where the second grade classes played. "You know I don't study for vocab tests and I hate looking up these words!"

"I love you, too, Jen, you and your boisterous personality."

"Whatever, Claire!" Claire watched with a smile as Jennifer threw her hand up behind her. " _Bye_!"

With Mr. McCormick's permission, she plodded down the open-air halls to the library. She needed to be back before one-thirty but Claire didn't think she'd be gone long. She never was.

On the way, she had to pass by the small garden located between buildings one and two. During science, Mr. McCormick would take them to observe the caterpillars within a large glass container. Two of them were already undergoing metamorphosis. One of them might hatch sometime this week. She wanted to be there when it did break out of its cocoon.

How did it know how to do that? What colors would it have? And how did a butterfly just _know_ how spread its wings and fly?

All the graders had different recess times so it wasn't surprising that she'd catch the other classes there. According to Cindy's older sister, the fourth graders were studying the flowers. Sometimes she'd catch the Environmental Club planting new ones. What surprised Claire was seeing John there.

She'd seen him as much as the usual—at lunch and sometimes when his and Andrew's class were waiting outside the music room for their turn in. That's it. In the mornings, she was the earliest to arrive and the first one to leave. By lunch, she was cornered by her friends.

But now there were no excuses. His profile was getting closer and Claire didn't remember when she instructed her feet to walk towards him. And with the walk, came the ting of fear.

She knew her friends wouldn't approve—Andrew and Cindy especially. Neither would her mother. Claire didn't like displeasing people, she'd been raised to please ever since she was four. But she couldn't find it in her small heart to care about what people might think anymore, even her own mother.

She'd spent a lot of time—too much time—thinking about all the things she'd say to him. It sounded so easy in her head. She'd imagined he was just as friendly as her. But what if he wasn't? Her mouth felt so dry. And now there was nowhere to go.

All Claire could manage as she stopped by his side was, "Hi."

John blinked owlishly, tearing his gaze away from the shrubs and pressed his mouth into a thin line. He really did have pretty eyes; hazel, just like she originally thought, and thick, black lashes framed the protruding shape.

They flickered with the slightest delight. "Are you lost?"

Claire shook her head. "I come sometimes to see the caterpillars. I love them, do you?"

He shot her a look of skepticism. "No."

"Oh." Her head tilted, just recollecting that they were the same grade level. "Then, what're you doing here? Shouldn't you be at recess?"

"I am." John shrugged, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his way too big khakis. She thought she saw a flash of something white covering his hand. "They're just boring."

"Even your friends?"

He licked the inside corner of his mouth. "They have other friends."

Claire knew that feeling. Her and Jennifer had a lot of friends—actually, the entire class were their friends—but they were mostly Jennifer's friends. Claire wasn't jealous but she wished for her own friend. It's another reason why she'd been heartbroken over not getting her cat.

Her mouth opened but the sound of a croak somewhere in the shrub by her side made Claire shriek and sprint behind John, clutching his shirt frantically.

John peered over his shoulder, the smile on his lips made his bottom eyelid crinkle. "… Are you afraid of _frogs_ , Cherry?"

"No! I mean… " The thing croaked _again_ and Claire shivered. "They're just so… so _weird_! Some of them are so tubby, and they have long tongues, and those _ugly_ feet, and they eat bugs and… I just hate reptiles."

John's fruity laugh made her frown. "A frog's not a reptile. Didn't you pay attention in class?"

"I know they're not!" She rolled her eyes, still holding onto the fabric of his wrinkled shirt. He didn't smell bad at all and they were the same height. Most of the boys, even Andrew, were shorter than her. "I'm just saying!"

"I think you shouldn't stay here for so long." He warned. "I saw some lizards around."

" _What_?!"

John stuck pinky in his ear, twisting. "I'm right _here_ , Cherry. You don't gotta shout."

She let him go, stepping back. "Why do you keep calling me that? My name's Claire."

"I know that, but _Ka-lair's_ a fat girl's name."

Claire inhaled sharply. Not only did the sentence infuriate her but she could _hear_ the smile in his voice. "I am _not_ fat! And that's not _how_ you say my name!"

John turned halfway, smiling—just like she thought. "I didn't say that."

"Yes, you did!"

"No, I didn't." John shook head. "I didn't say you were fat, I said the name was."

Claire huffed, crossing her arms. "That doesn't make it any better! There's no such thing as a fat name!"

His snooty smile dissipated as his eyes drifted down, to the cement stone by her feet. The color nearly drained from his face, and John pulled at his lips. "Um... You _might_ not wanna look down…"

"Why not? Did I step in gum again?" Claire groaned, throwing her arms. "My mother's gonna kill me again!"

He held out his hand. "Claire, don't—"

She looked down, and almost _screamed_.

"Don't!" John barked, kneeling. "I'll get it off! Just stay still!"

Claire shut her mouth, pressing her hand against her lips to stifle her sobs. She stared right at one of the curtain drawn classroom windows of the fifth graders, swearing she could see the outline of the teacher writing on the chalkboard. How did she _not_ feel a lizard crawling all over her new flats? How disgusting! They were being thrown out the second she got home.

It felt like an eternity until John rose; the dark green, almost black, lizard perched itself comfortably on his index finger like it was laying on a window pane with the stifled heat beating against its scales. She almost shivered again.

"You wanna touch it?" He asked sincerely.

" _Ew_! No way!" Claire waved her hand wildly in the space between them. "Get it away from me!"

John grinned at her outburst, some teeth missing just like her. "It's harmless, Cherry. It might bite but that's it."

"That's the least of it!" She cried. "What about if it's _poisonous_? It's black and yellow! Aren't lizards are supposed to be _green_?"

The lizard started slithering up his arm, slipping under the long sleeves of his shirt. John didn't seem bothered by it, but she was. She was just imagining what it would feel like, those skinny legs with claws for toes grazing her skin. She couldn't stop shaking, though something else caught her eye.

There was a bandage wound tightly around his other wrist, and Claire was starting to think it wasn't a coincidence that the cuffs of his shirt were white. The more she studied him, she realized how she hadn't seen John remove his other hand from his pocket—the one she thought she'd seen wrapped completely.

Was he still getting into fights? Did he come here to escape? Worse, was it _Andrew's_ doing? No, it couldn't be him, but she didn't know.

"It's not poisonous." John said flatly.

Claire blinked, almost forgetting about her comments. "How do _you_ know?"

John pulled it out by grabbing its tail. It wiggled in distress, all four legs flailing. "I watch _Wild Kingdom_ sometimes."

Claire grimaced, wiping her tear-stricken cheeks. As long as it was in John's hands, maybe he was right that it wouldn't harm her. "My brother and father watch that. He's crazy."

"My dad says the guy's embarrassing but he doesn't know I still watch it when he's not around." He swung it like clocks' pendulum for emphasis. "This is a six-lined racerunner. _Harmless_."

"You should put it down, John." She swallowed, feeling queasy watching it fight. "I think hanging upside down, even for them, is bad…"

His brows knitted, the lizard and her uncomfortable state momentarily forgotten. His mouth searched for words. "You know my name."

Claire tilted her head, startled by his astonishment. "… Yeah? Why? Do you like being called Bender?"

John also blinked, except he blinked out of his reverie. "Uh. No, not really."

"But that is your last name, right?"

She could've sworn him mutter *unfortunately* but never questioned why. Many kids didn't like their names. Not Claire, because she thought her name was just okay, but she knew those kind of kids.

She looked on as John did as she asked, turning around, squatting and letting the lizard go by gently placing it on the grass. It scurried back into the shrubs with seconds. Unlike Jennifer's cinnamon hues, John's hair was about as chocolate as a Hershey's bar—though Claire was pretty sure he wasn't anywhere near as sweet.

 _John Bender_ , she thought as her brows drew together, _a strange name for a strange boy_.

"Why don't you tell them?" Claire asked. John looked over his shoulder, confused. "If you don't like something, you should say it."

His face fell, reiterating, "'If you don't got nothing nice to say, don't say it'?"

"Well… My brother once said that if it hurts you, you should fight back." Claire looked at her hands, soft, refined, not made for fist-fighting. "But I'm a girl. My mother says I shouldn't."

The muscles in his face tightened. "It doesn't matter. It's not _that_ easy."

"Why isn't it?"

John gave her a lackluster smile, still crouched though the lizard was gone—hopefully—by yards. "Because nobody would listen to me even if I did."

Her lips primed. "Well, I would, 'cause I don't think people listen to me much, either."

John gave a dry chuckle. "That's hard to believe."

"No, it isn't."

"Yeah, it is." He persisted. "Everybody listens to richies."

"A… What?"

"People like you, ya know." He informed, standing straight and fixing the cuff of his sleeves. "People who've got lots of money, lots of friends… Sometimes they're really mean."

Claire was taken aback. "I'm nice!"

"That's not what I mean." His jaw clinched, silently debating. But he never said anything else.

Claire set her lips into a grim line. She didn't understand what he meant, not at all. But she couldn't think about it for too long because she saw it. She hadn't imagined it at all.

His other hand really was wrapped up completely, except for his fingers poking through. At least they weren't swollen or purple, so maybe it hadn't been all that bad.

Still, Claire pointed with her chin, and asked, "What happened? To your hand?"

His eyes widened briefly. "I fell… And landed on glass in the kitchen."

"Oh, my God!" She exclaimed in horror. "That's happened to my brother—a lot actually! He used to play baseball a few years ago and we were at the hospital after every game. I was so tired of hospitals, I'm kinda glad he quit. Did you go the hospital?"

"Yeah." John said, placing it back within his pocket. "It sucked."

"What about your wrist?"

"I sprained it."

"How?"

He shuffled on his feet. "I fell… Down the stairs."

Claire blinked. "You fall a lot."

John shrugged, shoulders almost touching his ears. "I'm clumsy."

She sighed, looking around at the vacant area. She wished there was a lock outside. She doubted recess was over. Still, she needed to get to the library and get a hall pass for proof that she'd been there.

"Okay, well, can you try not to fall on the way to the library?" Claire asked.

His brows rose, his nose scrunching. "Who said anything about going to the library? Libraries are boring."

"No, they're _not_!" Claire exclaimed. "It's where I was going before. I like to read and I thought it'd be better if I went there with a friend."

John's face contorted, though Claire didn't know at what. "I dunno what's worse."

"Okay, fine! I'll go by myself!" She stuck her chin up and started walking. She was pretty sure John was smiling as she left.

But as much as she wanted to leave without saying goodbye, she couldn't. Just like she thought, he was grinning as she turned around. "It was nice meeting you, John."

John gave a stupid little wave in response, and she walked off.

She loved it in here. The library was cold, roomy, and most of all, quiet. The most she'd hear was Miss James flipping through the newspaper or the clicks and ring from whoever was using the typewriter.

Claire dashed for the second grade section, the edges of the books tacked on with a blue sticker. She'd been eyeing the _Amelia Badelia_ books for a few weeks but they were always checked out. Today must be her lucky day, because both the first and second were there. Claire took them.

She was only allowed to check out three books at a time. They needed to be returned in two weeks max. Her last choice needed to be worthwhile. Claire thought about reading _The Little Prince_ again. She'd read it three times during camp. It was definitely her favorite book.

Gliding through the aisles, she searched for where it might be. Fantasy, maybe? Foreign? It was originally a French novel. Maybe that's what she should do, read it in French. Her mother would probably like that.

"Say, Claire—" She almost dropped her books; her shocked expression meeting John's earnest one. "—do you read something like this?"

John held up the book right by his face over the roof of the shelf. How did she not hear or see him come in?

Claire collected herself, noticing how John was using the shelf as height leverage. "John, get down from there! And lower your voice!"

He frowned but did. The sound of his feet landing on the carpet was muffled but still loud enough to garner a shush from Miss James.

"Sorry, Miss James!" She whispered as John came around to her side. He held out the book for her to see it better. _Charlotte's Web._

She eyed him doubtfully. "I thought you said reading was boring."

"I said the library was." He corrected.

Claire frowned. Why was this boy so confusing? One second, he was okay, then the next second she wanted to shave off all his hair as a punishment. Maybe that wouldn't be a bad idea... His hair really had to go. She didn't think he even liked it.

"Then, what're you doing here?"

"Don't got anything better to do." He must've said the wrong thing because his eyes flickered with embarrassment, and he stubbed the tip of his sneaker in the carpet. "If you want me to go just—"

"No." Claire said, smiling. "You can stay."

His eyes widened. "Really?"

Claire nodded, taking the book from his hand.

* * *

 **A/N** : Might come back sometime tomorrow and edit the ending slightly more.


End file.
